Enough Time – You Never Know

Nick John

Time. We’d like to think we have enough.

My colleague, Nick John, like every other weekday morning, caught the subway for downtown. But that Tuesday morning, instead of heading to the Chase Tower and his office, he walked down Fulton to his breakfast meeting on the 108th floor of Tower 1. Nick didn’t have enough time.

But, he didn’t know it.

A couple of Sundays ago, Sargent Steve Perez got in his car at 4am to drive to work downtown Houston. Sargent Perez didn’t have enough time, either.

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Today is a difficult day for many. While they may not know his name, people all over the world are remembering Nick and all those who perished with him in 2001. At the same time, much of the world is still following, donating and supporting those who have suffered and lost much from Hurricane Harvey. And now there’s Irma, Jose, the earthquake in Mexico, the wildfires, and on, and on.

There is always loss and tragedy in the world. It seems especially heavy these past few weeks and, unfortunately, is likely to be so for a while longer. As much as possible, let’s see the good. Love what you do. Love who you’re with. Live in the moment, smell the roses, be grateful, hug your loved ones.

See the good. It’s all around us.

We’d all like to think we have enough time.

But you never know.

Lynnelle is so right. I took a big, deep breath after reading her post—the kind of breath some call “cleansing”—and while I don’t feel cleansed but do actually feel better. EW and I did not lose a loved one in 9/11 but that day was the final push we needed to change our lives. Just prior to 9/11 we lost two dear loved ones to cancer. They, too wanted more time to pursue their dreams and watch their children become adults. We were struck by the same realization Lynnelle mentioned above: You never know how much time you’ll have.

Taking off and going sailing had been a shared dream for years and all of the events in 2001 conspired to move us forward with a speed that surprised many of our friends. We found the boat in January, sold the house in March, and moved aboard in May—none of which had been planned for that year. Though it hasn’t always been easy, it was a move we never regretted.

As I write this, we are getting ourselves and our boat ready to survive Irma. We argued a bit during these stressful days, but we both still said, “I love you” when I left the boat to work on the shore preparations. (Teeth may have been gritted, but we said it and meant it, dammit and that counts!)

While friends and family have worried about us during northeasters on the dock in Maine, when we crossed the Atlantic, or when a hurricane skirted us in St. Thomas—most understand that we are living our life exactly as we wish to, with love, laughter, smelling more salt air and low tide than roses, and plenty of hugs. When we finally end up with no more time, we will have very few regrets. Hugs to you all.